Falling Skies
by ghettos
Summary: "Don't you see it? None of us are in here by accident," she says. "And we need to fight to get out." AU -— Katniss/Peeta and the First Annual Hunger Games. /two-shot


**A/N — **I swear, my muse died on me. That's why I haven't posted anything for ages ;) but okay, so I've actually been working on this oneshot since I got back from Japan, because I had the idea halfway through :P it's an AU, as mine generally are, and it centres around the very first Hunger Games (: it's just something to distract me, because the next chapter of _Finding the Mockingjay_ is seriously killing me :L parts of it are quite rushed because they go with the original events in the book, for example the part in the Capitol. hope you like it, and please read and review! :D

**note** — the quatrain down there is written by me, so if you want to use it in your stories or anything I'd _really appreciate _it if you could shoot me a PM first. otherwise, it's called plagiarism. (sorry, but this has happened before and i didn't like it at all.)

this is dedicated to louise / imprintess, who (i hope) is having the time of her life over in darwin c:

* * *

_Falling Skies_  
by **studies in pink**

* * *

Twenty-four children sent to their deaths;  
The rest of the country watches, chilled.  
Twenty-three children take their last breaths;  
The only rule — you kill or be killed.

* * *

**000.**  
"None of us are in here by accident, and we _all _know it," she says, gripping the bow so tightly that her knuckles go white, but she makes no move to notch and arrow and shoot. "We need to _work together._ That's exactly what they don't want."

The circle of tributes is silent, and none of them move until the bespectacled boy from District Three speaks up. "She's right," he says, his face a solemn mask as always. He reaches up and pushes his glasses further back almost nervously, before giving them a grim smile. "If we do as the Capitol says, who knows how long these Hunger Games might go on. We need to _fight. _Isn't that what we always do?"

She feels all the breath go out of her in one long, relieved _whoosh_, and then she turns to face _him_, her grey eyes seeking out his wide blue ones. He regards her for a long moment, never once breaking his gaze, before he turns away stiffly and addresses the group at large. "I'm with the Mockingjay," he says, reaching for the dagger tucked in his belt loop, drawing it, and raising it to the heavens.

A smile spreads across her face slowly, and she feels so _happy_ it's almost ridiculous — then she follows his example, lifting her bow, jabbing it towards the sky. Slowly, all the other tributes follow suit, extending their weapons in solemn oath. "Fire is catching," she breathes, regarding the azure skies. Her eyes meet his. "And if we burn, they burn with us."

* * *

**I.**

* * *

**001.**  
"_Are you, are you, coming to the tree —?_" her lips barely shape the words as she approaches the weeping willow, standing tall and graceful in the middle of the field, its branches draping in fluid arches towards the grass that tickles her shins. She can almost see it — her mother's body, dangling from one of the highest branches, her head lolling, the light in her eyes gone. She touches the ashy wood, and whispers, _why?_

Henderson Everdeen had been a soldier, a freedom fighter, battling for the rebels during the Dark Days. She only has vague memories of him now — whittling bows together in the forests whenever they managed to escape their district, escape their lives. When she had been twelve, District Thirteen had declared war on the Capitol, and all hell broke loose. Her father had immediately enlisted in the army despite her mother's protests, and promised his wife and his two daughters that he would return.

The most they found of him was his left arm.

The war dragged on for three long years, in which the citizens of District Thirteen lived in fear, terror, and anger. They joined forces with the other districts, all of whom also wanted their liberty and freedom from the Capitolite dictators, but not even their combined forced were enough to defeat the Capitol. Their soldiers fought long and hard on the front line daily — until the Capitol dropped the bombs.

She remembers them, distinctly and vividly. Prim was crying, trying to muffle her sobs by stuffing her fingers in her mouth while the house shook and the earth trembled with the force of the explosions. She remembers the fluorescent lights crashing to the floor in ear-splintering showers of glass, the stairs falling to pieces beneath their feet as she carried Prim down towards her mother's room, the despair and the sobs wracking her body as she struggled across the landings.

"Ma —?" her mother's room was empty. There were two words painted across the whitewashed wall in red — _I'm sorry. _

After that, everything is a blur. She has no idea how she managed to get Prim and herself out of that house, because at the sight of her mother's message, she went into shock. There are pieces, fragments of memories that don't make any sense — blue eyes, strong hands pulling her out of the burning house. Next thing she knew, she was on the cold tarmac outside, black spots clouding her vision. "Stay with me," she pleaded desperately, reaching for her unknown savior as the world faded to nothing. But she heard him whisper a word back.

"Always."

When she came to, she was on a metal gurney in a hovercraft, being taken out of District Thirteen to the next nearest district — Twelve. She had no recollection whatsoever of the incident, only those nonsensical flashes. Then her mother's words come rushing back, the fires and the explosions — in that moment, Katniss Everdeen's world fell apart, and she started to cry.

She emerges from the haze of memories and back into the present, and almost numbly, blinks up at the branches of the weeping willow. The image of her mother's body shimmers before her eyes before disappearing completely, almost like a mirage. Then she crumples to the ground, curls up in a ball, hugging her knees to her chest, and thinks, _I know why she did it._

**002.**  
"Where have you been?" Prim flies at her as she enters the house, pushing her chair back from the breakfast table and tackling her. Katniss drops her half-empty game bag onto the floor and hugs her sister back tightly. "I was hunting."

"You were supposed to be back hours ago!" Prim counters. "We were worried."

"We —?" Katniss swivels around, and sights Gale Hawthorne sitting on the only other chair at the table, a half-smile on his lips. "Hey, Catnip." he says softly. "I came to drop by, see whether you and Prim were doing all right —"

"We're fine," says Katniss coldly. "We don't need your help."

"Katniss," Prim protests, looking up at her sister with wide blue eyes. "Gale really was here to check up on me! Don't get mad at him —"

"He _abandoned _us, Prim." Katniss chokes out, her eyes burning with anger. "He _left us_ that day in the square, ran off to the mayor's daughter and probably slept with her —"

"Katniss," Gale stands at these words, his eyes narrowing. "That's going too far."

"— he didn't care about us, Prim! He just left to tend to his own needs, like everyone else from District Thirteen! _None _of them care about us, Prim. They only care about themselves, and they have _no _sense of pride or loyalty —"

"Katniss!" Gale shouts at her, his eyes blazing in fury. "You have _no _right to say those things about us, who do you _think_ you are —"

"I'm the owner of the house you're standing in right now," shoots back Katniss. "And unlike you, I earned it." She then strides over to the door and yanks it open so forcefully the doorframe trembles, sending billows of dust into the air. She doesn't bat an eyelid, and instead jabs a finger in the vague direction of the front yard. "Get out."

Gale shrinks back. "Katniss —"

"Get _out._"

This time, he doesn't argue. He just sends her a final, searching glance, before moving over to the door. In the doorframe he pauses, but then changes his mind and walks away without looking back. Once he's a few millimetres clear of the door, she slams it shut angrily, so hard that the entire house seems to shake. Prim seems unsure of how to break the tense silence, and with a yell of frustration Katniss stomps in the direction of their room, where she burrows under the duvet and shuts herself off from the world.

Once upon a time, Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne had been friends. Best friends, so as to speak. During the rebellion, their friendship grew even more steadfast — but that all fell apart when they arrived in District Twelve. After the bombs had been dropped on their district, the citizens of District Thirteen evacuated all their living to the nearest district — Twelve. Once they'd landed, there'd been much objection to their sudden appearance from the residents of Twelve — after all, hadn't they just spearheaded the rebellion that had wiped out most of their population? They'd just begun hurling insults when Katniss stepped forward, defending the honour of her people and arguing that the members of District Twelve had chosen to fight for their _own_ freedom. Nobody reacted kindly to this.

Minutes later she found herself in the stocks, the locks melted and bashed in by the local blacksmith, and along with the yells and shouts of obscenities from the people of Twelve, they threw stones as well, pebbles that opened up cuts and slashes on her skin and her clothes. Prim was sobbing by her side, begging them all to _stop_ — but no one listened. They needed somebody to blame, and since she'd tried to stand up for Thirteen, she was at fault. She saw the people of Thirteen amongst the crowd of stoners — she saw Gale, standing solemnly behind a burly man. He didn't even bother sticking up for her, trying to get them to stop.

In that moment, her respect and her love for Gale Hawthorne crumbled into a million pieces, and she'd hated him from then onwards.

She'd woken up in a bed in a rundown shack somewhere in the corner of the district, around the area that the people called the Seam. Prim was curled up in a ball on a chair by her side, and when she'd seen her sister awake, her eyes had lit up and she reached for a bowl of gruel right next to her.

"Where are we?"

"It's an old abandoned house," Prim answered. There were flames crackling merrily in the fireplace behind her. "Here, have some gruel, it's still hot."

"Where did you get the sheets? And the gruel? How did I — how did I get here?" Katniss struggled into a sitting position, and found a bandage wrapped round her head, the cuts on her palms tended to. Somehow she couldn't picture her frail younger sister dragging her into this house and bandaging her wounds.

Prim bit her lip. "Someone . . . helped us." And, on sighting that her sister felt uncomfortable, despite wanting to press on the matter, Katniss held her tongue, and allowed a subdued Prim to feed her gruel.

From that day onwards they lived in the house. On the first opportunity, Katniss travelled to the end of the district to find an electric fence blocking her path to the woods. Just as she was beginning to despair, she found a spot in which the chain link wasn't secured to the ground properly, and if she kept her hands by her sides, she could just about struggle through. Once she was in the forest she was free.

She'd started to sell the animals and plants she gathered from the woods at District Twelve's black market recently — nicknamed the Hob by the locals. Despite their resentment of her and her home district, everyone wanted fresh meat and herbs — something that they would get for half the price from Rooba, the butcher. Within a few weeks she'd been integrated successfully into the Hob's scene, and people had stopped questioning her appearance there.

Katniss emerges from the bedroom about twenty minutes later, and finds Prim still in the kitchen, sitting at the table tensely with her fingers laced together. At the sight of her sister, without a single word, the twelve-year-old stands up, and tersely gives her a hug. Katniss pats Prim on the back, brushes a kiss onto her forehead, and heads for the doorway, where she dropped her game bag.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Hob," Katniss answers, lifting the bag onto the kitchen counter and starting to rummage through its contents. "We need money, don't we?"

Prim hesitates. "Katniss . . . I don't think that's such a great idea."

"Well of course not, it's illegal," Katniss answers without missing a beat, laying out some herbs and plants on the table. Prim doesn't respond to this, and Katniss pauses, regarding her sister more seriously. "Prim, what's wrong?"

"This morning . . . while you were in the woods, I took some of yesterday's wild turkey and tried to go to the Hob to sell it," Prim says slowly, her eyes not leaving her sister's. At these words, Katniss' eyes widen, and she marches over to Prim, kneeling before her. "And? Nobody touched you, did they?"

"No, but . . . there were some men and women patrolling the Hob. They looked fierce." Prim's brow crinkles. "Greasy Sae called them Peacekeepers. Apparently they're from the Capitol — and they're here to make sure everybody's law-abiding and such." Another pause, before she goes on and says, "they caught Leevy trying to sell some of her mother's jewellery."

Katniss is almost afraid to hear what comes next. "And?" she probes, her voice barely audible as she does.

Prim closes her eyes. "They whipped her, in the square. Afterwards, Thom took her to the Cartwrights, hoping that they might be able to help her, but no. Not even Rhine could help. She just — died. They pronounced her dead within the hour."

The words send a hollow pang through Katniss. She knows the extent of the Capitol's cruelty, but she never _expected_ such a thing to happen. She presses a hand to her temple. "Okay, Prim. I don't want you going back there, even if they didn't catch you."

"That's just the thing, Katniss." Prim falters. "They . . . did."

At this, Katniss freezes, and though the more logical side of her argues, _Prim's still here. She's still alive_; another part of her _knows_ that she couldn't have gotten away like that. "Prim . . . what happened?"

"The man who caught me . . . he said his name was Cray," Prim blurts. "And he said that he would let me off, but I would have to go to his house at five o' clock today. He's the Head Peacekeeper." There's a bout of silence before she bursts out, "I don't want to go, Katniss. I'm scared."

"And you won't have to go, Prim," promises Katniss, glancing towards the clock. It reads a quarter to three. "Don't worry about it." She stands up and clenches her fists. "Is that why . . . is that why you and Gale were so worried? You thought I'd been captured by the Peacekeepers?"

Prim nods in response, and Katniss sighs. "You needn't worry about me. Just take care of yourself." With that, she tosses her game bag over her shoulder and heads towards the door. Prim's eyes widen in alarm. "_Katniss_! You can't go to the Hob now, it's dangerous!"

Katniss gives her sister a wry smile. "Who says I'm going to the Hob?"

**003.**  
The house is flat and wide, painted in minimalist shades of white and khaki, all either wood and concrete. It's large and stately, much like the house Gale lives in with the mayor's family, and seems fit for nobility. But from what Prim has told her, the Head Peacekeeper seems like anything but nobility.

Mustering up all her courage, Katniss marches staunchly up the cobblestone path and up to the heavy oak door, rapping on it sharply with the brass iron knocker. Within two knocks it has flown open, revealing a middle-aged man dressed in all white, the top half of his buttons undone and his pants hanging low off his hips. He gives her a greasy smile. "Are you my three o' clock appointment?"

In response she knees him soundly in a spot that will make him sing soprano for a week; with a squeal he stumbles backwards into the house. "Who are you?" he squeaks out.

"I'm the sister of your '_five o' clock appointment',_" she says scornfully, mimicking his tone. "For the record, I think you're a lecherous, disgusting old man, and you should keep your hands to yourself." For good measure, she kicks him in the gut, and he lets out an _oof_. "Don't you _ever_ come near my sister again," she tells him in a low voice, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't care if you're the Head Peacekeeper, regardless of whatever authority you have, I don't think your job entails taking advantage of young girls."

"One of its many perks," he responds, straightening and trying hard not to wince. "Look here, girl. I could have you dead in three seconds flat —"

"How often do you get fresh meat? I'm guessing never," Katniss cuts him off. His eyes widen at her sudden change in subject. "Yes, but that is hardly —" Without another word she slips her game bag off her shoulder and thrusts it at him. He catches it in surprise. "Sixty for the lot," she tells him. "No haggling."

He peers inside, and slowly, begins to laugh. Katniss braces herself, thinking, _he's not taking me seriously_, but instead he just shakes his head in disbelief. "You have a deal." He pulls out a handful of coins from his pocket and starts counting them. "What's your name, girl?"

"Katniss Everdeen," she answers, sticking her chin in the air.

"Well, Katniss Everdeen," he says with an incredulous laugh, "I have to give it to you, you have spirit." He finally counts out the proper amount and hands it to her. She has to bite back a laugh of joy, she's never held that much in a _lifetime._ "Here you go," Cray says, passing her the empty game bag. Katniss nods her thanks, but before she can leave, he catches her arm. "You know, I don't appreciate people messing with me."

"Neither do I," she responds curtly, and shrugs his arm off with one swift movement before slinging the bag over her shoulder and stalking from the house, feeling triumphant. Then she looks down once more at the money in her hands and laughs out loud, elated at her earnings. _What shall I do with it_? She wonders to herself. _I can afford to treat myself to a little luxury. Maybe peppermints?_

Seconds later she's pushing open the door to the local sweet store, hearing the tinkle of the bell attached to the door handle. It's dimly lit and deserted, and since she's never been in her before she's always expected it to be a little more . . . lively. There are dusty jars of assorted candies lining the shelves behind the counter, which also displays an array of packaged little sweets, pink-coloured ones in the shape of hearts, circular-shaped orange-tinted ones, and so on and so forth. There's also a silver bell resting on the glass counter, which she rings loudly whilst calling, "Hello?"

There are voices arguing somewhere in the background, and her eyes travel to the yellowing curtain draped over the entrance to the storeroom behind the counter. A split-second later a woman emerges, forcing a smile onto her face as her fingers numbly do up the bow on her apron, tying it behind her back. "Hello, sweetie. How may I help you?"

The woman has curly blonde hair and bright green eyes which glimmer with a forced cheerfulness; her nametag, pinned to the front of her blouse, reads 'Maysilee'. Katniss recognizes her to be Maysilee Donner, the woman who owns the shop with her drunkard husband Haymitch Abernathy. "Um, I'd like some peppermints, please."

"Of course!" Maysilee gives her a bright smile and heads over to the shelf behind, attempting to reach a large jar on the top shelf labelled 'peppermints'. Unfortunately, she's too short, and with a sigh she calls out, "_Haymitch_!"

"What is it, woman?" Someone calls back, this is followed by muttering. The curtains part once more to reveal a surly grey-eyed dark-haired man clutching a bottle of white liquor in one hand. Maysilee sighs. "I need some peppermints."

"Get them yourself," the man shoots back, turning around to head back.

"I can't reach them," Maysilee says exasperatedly. Haymitch Abernathy grumbles under his breath but shuffles over to the shelf obediently, setting his bottle down on the counter. Strong and pungent fumes of alcohol waft from the mouth of the bottle over to where Katniss is standing; she takes a step backwards.

Haymitch lifts the enormous jar of peppermints easily and dumps it on his wife, who staggers under its weight. He makes to just abandon her like that, and disgustedly Katniss remarks, "at least help her, drunkard."

He turns to face her with his eyebrows arched. "Excuse me?"

"Can't you see that your wife can't manage the weight of that jar? Are you blind or something?" Katniss demands, gesturing at Maysilee, whose face is flushed. "What kind of husband _are_ you, seriously?"

He takes a step towards her. "I don't appreciate being told what to do."

"And I don't appreciate the smell of your breath," she shoots back. "What have you been eating, dog shit?"

He lets out a derisive laugh, but nonetheless snatches the jar from his wife and slams it onto the counter with a eardrum-shattering crash. Haymitch gives Katniss a dry smile. "Happy now?" He swipes for his bottle, but instead of grabbing it knocks it over, sending its contents splashing onto the floor and splattering Katniss. "Whoops," he comments without a trace of humour, then turns on his heel and heads back into the storeroom.

"Thank you," Maysilee says, after a while of silence. "I appreciate it." She moves towards the counter and lifts the lid off the jar, setting it down carefully beside her.

"Why do you _tolerate_ him?" Katniss asks her incredulously as Maysilee shovels up a scoop of peppermints and lays them on the weighing scale. "He treats you _awfully_!"

"But I love him," Maysilee says simply, continuing to weigh the sweets. In response to Katniss' slack jaw, she says wryly, "the heart is cruel, Miss Everdeen." She's finally satisfied with the weight of the sweets and reaches beneath the counter, producing a crisp white paper bag.

"H—how do you know my name?" stammers Katniss in surprise.

Maysilee smiles at her. "The Mellarks are our neighbours," she answers, as if that's supposed to make sense. She empties the contents of the weighing pan into the paper bag, and folds over the top seam twice neatly, sealing it with a golden sticker. "There you go." She then slides it across the counter to Katniss. "Three coins."

"I don't understand what you mean by that," Katniss says confusedly, doling out the money. "How's the Mellarks related to me?"

"That's not my secret to tell," replies Maysilee cryptically. "Thank you for patronizing our store, Miss Everdeen." She rings up the purchase in the cashier machine while Katniss picks up her bag of peppermints. "Do come again!"

Katniss waves; then she turns around and pushes her way out of the shop, Maysilee's words ringing in her mind.

**004.**  
When she's outside the sweet shop, her eyes wander almost subconsciously towards the bakery next door. _The Mellarks are our neighbours_, Maysilee said. Katniss has absolutely no idea what to make of that, but it seems to hold some significance. How on earth are the Mellarks connected to her?

She just stands there in front of the bakery for a long time, her eyes roaming over the delicately iced cakes in the display window. _I remember looking at those cakes as a kid . . . _she thinks almost wistfully, and then it strikes her. Of course! _The Mellarks were the local bakers in District Thirteen as well . . . come to think of it, they're the only ones whose entire family managed to escape._

Involuntarily, she walks up towards the glass door of the bakery, and pushes it open a crack. Almost instantly she is enveloped by warmth and the smell of baking bread — there's a golden-haired boy at the counter, doodling on a notepad as he hasn't noticed her presence yet. With a deep breath, she pushes the door open all the way and enter the bakery.

The boy gives a start; his eyes widen at the sight of her and he tries to push his notepad out of view. She's caught him off guard, she thinks with a half-smile. As she approaches the counter, he stammers out, "w—what can I do for you?"

He has blue eyes that are astonishingly familiar; she muses. Her eyes narrow in concentration as she tries to locate a memory that isn't there. _Where have I seen those eyes before?_ But no matter how hard she searches, her mind only dredges up images of the night she'd like most to forget — the night the bombs were dropped on District Thirteen. Brushing those memories out of her mind, she says, clearly, "I'd like to buy some bread."

_Of course you'd like to buy some bread, it's a bakery._ She curses herself for sounding like an idiot, but he's just as flustered as her. "Um . . . yeah, sure. What kind of bread would you like to — like to buy?"

As he speaks, a loud, annoying voice calls out from behind him, "Peeta, Mum's calling. She needs you to take the Sally Lunns out of the —"

"There's a _customer_, Zoph," Peeta shoots back, sounding irritated. He gives Katniss an embarrassed glance. "I'll be right back," he says quickly, and turns to head into the kitchen. Another boy emerges, this one with lighter-coloured hair and the same blue eyes, but his don't seem as familiar. His nametag reads 'ZOPH', in capital letters.

"Why hello there," he smirks. "I can see why Peet was getting so worked up about having to fetch the Sally Lunns. I'm Zoph."

"I can see that," she says with a nervous smile. "I'm Katniss—"

"— Everdeen, I know who you are," Zoph returns, flashing her a knowing grin. "Anyway, how can I help you in any way at all?"

She doesn't see Peeta for the rest of her stint at the bakery, and even when she's on the way home, peppermints and warm bread bouncing in her game bag, she can't get the image of his blue eyes out of her mind. _Why do they seem so familiar_? She asks herself over and over again, but no answers are forthcoming.

They're halfway through dinner of freshly baked bread and wild turkey stew when Katniss asks, "Prim, what do you know of the Mellarks?"

Prim almost chokes on her stew in her haste to answer. "Why do you ask?"

"When I was at the sweet store today, Maysilee — the owner, she knew my name. And when I asked her how she did, she just said something about the Mellarks being their neighbours. So I went to the bakery, and there was this boy — his name was Peeta, and his eyes were just _so _familiar." Katniss forks up a chunk of turkey and stuffs it in her mouth, chews and swallows. "I guess it's just me being oversensitive as usual."

"Well, the Mellarks were the bakers back in District Thirteen, too," Prim says thoughtfully, and there is an edge of measured care to her voice, but Katniss doesn't comment on that. "Maybe that's why Peeta looks so familiar."

_I know it's more than that,_ Katniss longs to say, but all she does say is, "hmm, maybe you're right." They eat in silence for a while more, the only sounds being the clink of their cutlery against their bowls and the slurping of the stew.

"Why were you so late today?" Prim asks suddenly. Katniss shifts in her chair, she feels as though a sudden chill has settled on the room.

"I went to — I went to visit the Hanging Tree."

"Oh." Prim says in a small voice, she stares down at her stew, suddenly without appetite. Katniss' chewing slows, too, but she quickly regains her composure. "Come on, Prim, eat up." Prim reluctantly reaches for her half-eaten slice of bread and tears off a chunk, dipping it daintily in her bowl of stew and putting it into her mouth, not really chewing. Katniss tries not to look at her, focusing on her own eating.

"There's scheduled viewing in the square for everyone tomorrow," Prim informs her quietly. "I heard it from Delly Cartwright."

Grateful for the change in conversation topic, Katniss jumps at the opening. "What's it about? Not another Treaty of Treason announcement, I hope. I fell asleep during the last one, remember?"

Prim manages to crack a smile. "No, I think this one's from the Capitol."

Katniss tilts her head to one side. "What could the Capitol possibly be talking to us about?" but Prim only shrugs, so Katniss is left to ponder. _What do they want?_ she wonders, resting her chin on her palm. But she knows that whatever it is, it can't be good.

**005.  
**At ten in the morning the following day, Katniss and Prim head down to the square, expecting to see a crowd of residents buzzing about the possible announcement. But instead they find everyone organized in neat rows, behind cordoning ropes, with Peacekeepers dressed alike to Cray had been patrolling the lines, clipboards in hands with helmets and visors over their heads. There are large screens located at the front of the square, atop a silver dais, with huge masses of wires and speakers interlinked across the stage. "What is _going on_?" she whispers to Prim, who merely gulps and stares straight ahead. When Katniss turns to the front, she sees Cray strolling towards them with a smirk on his lips.

"Names?"

"Primrose and Katniss Everdeen," she answers stiffly. He bends down and makes two marks on the front of his clipboard, before directing Prim towards a crowd of children who all look the same age as her. "That way, girl."

Then he whirls to face Katniss. "I'll escort you to the sixteens myself, Miss Everdeen." That confirms her assumption — they're being sorted by age. But for what? she asks herself, utterly befuddled. _What is going on_?

"As I said, I don't appreciate people messing with me," Cray remarks as they amble towards the lines of children on the far end. "You mess with the Head Peacekeeper, you mess with the Capitol." He lifts his visor and gives her a yellow-teethed smile. She takes an involuntary step backwards. "_And no one messes with the Capitol_."

"Good day, Miss Everdeen." And on that happy note, he tips his visor and goes merrily on his way to accost more children and their parents streaming into the square. Glancing around, Katniss finds that he has backed her into the third-last line from the edge of the square. Behind the rows of teenagers are a mass of worried parents, their faces anxious masks as they regard the lineup. _Like pigs readied for slaughter_, Katniss thinks, almost instinctively. She gives a shaky laugh. _It can't be anything as bad as that . . . can it_?

"Hi," a voice chirps from behind her. Katniss swivels around uncertainly; who would be talking to her? She's greeted by the bright smile of the mayor's daughter, Madge, whom at her solemn face, dims her smile a few watts.

"Um, hi," Katniss says, a little bewilderedly.

"You're — you're Gale's friend, right?" Madge tries for another smile. "I'm Madge Undersee."

"Yeah . . . I know that." Katniss says slowly. Then she flushes. "And, I'm, uh, Katniss Everdeen."

"Gale says such wonderful things about you," Madge says softly. "I've wanted to meet you in person for so long now. Yeah . . . and it's great to meet you, anyway!"

"He does?" Katniss responds, a little disbelievingly. "But it's, er, nice to meet you too."

They're suddenly distracted as cries go up from the crowd; the screens at the front have suddenly come to life. Splayed across the gigantic pixelated screen is none other the President Coriolanus Snow, a cruel smirk distorting his face as he speaks.

"Greetings, citizens of Panem," his loud voice booms out. Instantly, Katniss feels a wave of hatred boil through her — this is the man who caused hundreds of lives to be lost. _This_ is the man who killed both her father and her mother. _This_ is the man responsible for her misery, all these years.

"You may wonder why I've summoned you all here today," this time, his lips slide to reveal a laser-whitened smile that causes Katniss to grimace. "Well, today, all across Panem, something very important is taking place." A dramatic pause for effect. "Today is the reaping of the very first annual Hunger Games."

_Even the name sounds formidable._ Katniss' eyes trace the lines etched into President Snow's cruel, hard, face, trying to seek out a trace of compassion and or mercy. She finds none, just cruelty in those dead, snake-like eyes of his. "The Hunger Games are designed to show the entire of Panem and the rebels that _no one _goes against the Capitol." His eyes glimmer. "As a . . . punishment for your foolhardy bravery and courage, this system will be introduced. Every year, each district will offer up one girl and boy tribute from the ages of twelve to eighteen, and they will be put into an arena where they will play."

"The rules of the Hunger Games are simple." A venomous smile; Katniss half-expects him to have fangs. "You either kill or you be killed."

His words settle with a hushed chill on the crowd, almost instantly, there is an outbreak of murmuring. Katniss blanches, her eyes flash almost immediately to Prim, who is cowering into the arms of Gale's younger brother — Rory, who is the same age as her and a fast friend. Gritting her teeth, Katniss looks once more towards the screen, where President Snow is silent, waiting for everyone to absorb the impact of his speech. _That cruel, twisted man . . . he wants us to kill each other. A fight to the death. _

"Of course, the last one standing will be crowned victor, and that victor will be given a life in the lap of luxury." President Snow speaks as if this is somehow compensation for having to take twenty-three other lives. "A mentor will be voted from each district by its residents, and this mentor will be in charge of . . ._ mentoring_ the tributes, so as to speak, coaching them on survival in the arena. Bear in mind that _anything_ can happen, in this arena."

An image forms in Katniss' mind, a twisted picture of a gladiatorial circle with a leashed lion snapping at a boy wielding a sword. As if his announcement isn't enough, President Snow has to add one last jibe. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour." With one final smirk at the camera, the screen flashes blank. There is an instant uproar.

The crowd surges forward, attempting to free and save their own children from the grasp of the Capitol, and Katniss fights her way through the horde desperately, trying to reach Prim. Shrill screams pierce the air, followed by an answering cacophony of hoarse roars as people _fight_ for their loved ones. The Peacekeepers attempt to keep them at bay, but brute force isn't enough. A warning shot rings out, which causes many to falter, but the more determined ones press on. Then there's a scream, a ear-splitting shriek of distress, and the crowd parts. Katniss struggles to the front of the circle and finds Gale, _Gale Hawthorne_, lying on the floor, stirring feebly as the life bleeds out of him. Madge is sobbing uncontrollably by his side, and Cray stands a distance away, his expression hard and a smoking rifle in his hands.

Katniss feels all the blood drain from her face, and suddenly she's next to him, feeling for his pulse as her healer mother taught her many years ago. It flutters weakly beneath her calloused fingertips, and she swallows hard as the blue fabric of her dress soaks up Gale's blood. "Help," she croaks out, but no one pays her any heed. "Help him!" she yells at the crowd. "Can't you see he's dying? _Help_!"

A pasty-faced girl whom Katniss recognizes to be Delly Cartwright steps forward uncertainly, her eyes searching out someone in the crowd. "Ma," she says beseechingly. "Please. We need to _help him._" Even she sounds unsure of herself, and the crowd parts once more like the Red Sea to reveal Rhine Cartwright, Delly's mother. "We'll take him," she says after measuring his pulse, with one glance at Cray, who stares down at her disapprovingly.

Delly's two brothers, Wallace and Renter, shuffle forwards and lift Gale off the floor, one of them supporting his feet and the other his head. They soon disappear out of sight, and Cray clears his throat. "Everyone back in line, unless you want to end up like him." This time, without any resistance, everyone hurries back to their previous positions, the atmosphere terse and solemn.

A painfully upbeat voice rings out from the sound system, slicing through the stagnant air and startling almost everyone in the square. "Please give it up for . . . Miss Effie Trinket!"

Recorded applause comes on, sounding tinny and canned. Everyone in the square is silent; from the far end there comes one uncertain clap that echoes around the entire plaza. A pink-haired woman saunters onstage, her hair is a shock of colour that causes many eyes to widen, many jaws to drop. Her clothes are oddly angular and stiff; something not commonly seen in the district. Everyone is stunned into silence at the sight of this odd Capitolite woman.

"Welcome, welcome!" she trills. "My name is Effie Trinket, and I'm the escort for District Twelve." Not a single sound from the crowd. She frowns a little at the lack of response, but shrugs is off at the speed of light. "Well, my responsibility as an escort is to pick the two courageous youngsters who will be sent to the Capitol. Oh, and this year, I believe I have the honour of announcing District Twelve's mentor!" Effie beams at the locals, but not one of them smile back. Her grin faltering a little, and Katniss sees a little of her professional flair disappearing. "Um, oh well, ladies first!"

She glances at someone offstage, and instantly two men stumble onto the dais with two large glass balls filled with tiny paper slips. "This is the boys' reaping ball, and this is the girls' reaping ball. Each one of those slips contains a different name, and two of you lucky children will be given the honour of representing District Twelve in the first _ever_ annual Hunger Games!"

By now she's grown used to the nonexistence of the raring crowd she oh-so-hoped for, so she simply waltzes over to the first Reaping ball, the one she mentioned was filled with the girls' names. Katniss' eyes follow her every movement, silently praying. _Please . . . _

Effie cracks the seal on the tiny slip of paper, unfolding it to reveal a name. As her lips shape the name, every girl in the square is praying, praying that it isn't them. Katniss is no exception. When the name is called, hundreds of girls exhale in relief. Katniss' prayers are answered, and it isn't her. But she isn't saved.

It's Primrose Everdeen.

**006.**  
It's almost as if the world has turned to ice, and they're all travelling through a vacuum, every movement sluggish, ever word drawn out. It's almost as if time itself has slowed down; Katniss feels her heart beat once, twice. The loud thumps accompany the blood rushing in her ears, and suddenly, she can't breathe.

"Primrose Everdeen? Please come up here!" Effie smiles almost-kindly at the crowd of girls, and Katniss sees Prim emerge from the twelves, one shaky step after another, making her way to the front on unsteady legs. Katniss' heart pounds furious. _Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump._

It's almost as if someone has injected steel into her, but suddenly her eyes flutter wide open and she knows what to do. "I volunteer!" she shouts into the empty silence, afraid that they can't hear her. Every pair of eyes flickers towards her, but she grits her teeth and takes a step forward. "I — I volunteer as tribute." Behind her, she hears Madge whisper, "Oh, _no,_ Katniss."

Prim whirls around with wide eyes. "No — Katniss — you can't —" but Katniss' eyes are dancing across the square, from Effie to Cray, who gives the escort a grim nod. Effie's eyes light up, and she brightens visibly. "And look, it seems we have a volunteer! Everyone should follow her example, don't you think, Miss — uh —"

"Katniss," Katniss fills in, feeling all her limbs go numb as she thinks; _what have I just signed up for_? "Katniss Everdeen." _How could this happen?_ she asks herself unfeelingly. _How could this happen_? Somehow she makes it onto stage without falling over, and she sees Effie glance once more at Cray; Cray, the filthy old man with a penchant for — _oh._ And in that instant, everything clicks into place, and it suddenly makes sense.

_As I said, I don't appreciate people messing with me. You mess with the Head Peacekeeper, you mess with the Capitol. And no one messes with the Capitol._ Cray's words echo in her mind, and she recalls how she oh-so-recklessly stomped into his house and demanded he let her sister off. _Prim . . . _of course! He had been so humiliated that he'd rigged the reaping so that Prim would _have_ to be picked.

"Well, I'd bet my buttons that was your sister!" Effie flounders, paying no attention to the stony expression Katniss' features are contorted into. "Thank you, Katniss Everdeen, for volunteering. Let's all give her a big hand, shall we?"

She doesn't know whether it's a good or a bad thing that not one single person lifts their hands to applaud, almost as if in a blatant show of defiance towards the Capitol. The only sound is Prim's distant sobbing.

Wordlessly, as if given a form of cue, every person standing in the square presses two fingers to their mouths and extends it to her, a local tradition to display respect. Katniss feels tears prick the back of her eyes and chants; _not now, not now,_ in a blatant attempt not to show any weakness, because she knows that this is being broadcasted live across Panem.

"Ooh, er," Effie hazards sheepishly; "that was, um, lovely. How about we move on to the boy tribute now?" She all but scrambles towards the boys' reaping ball without a single inch of grace, causing the rolling cameras to pan across the length of the stage.

With a flourish Effie produces the boy's name, she slips a fingernail under the seal, cracking it. "And our lucky boy tribute is . . . Peeta Mellark!" Almost instinctively Katniss thinks to herself, _oh no._ Peeta Mellark comes lumbering onstage, he seems unsteady on his feet and blinking a little too often. _Is he . . . crying_? Katniss peers into those soulful blue eyes that seem oh-so-familiar, and once more she's plunged into the night the bombs were dropped. Instead of resisting she lets the memory overwhelm her. _Blue eyes . . . Peeta Mellark . . . blue eyes . . . _and then, she suddenly has an epiphany. _It's him_! She realizes. _He's the one who . . . _then she trails off, and she cannot even begin to _imagine_ how much she owes Peeta Mellark.

"Shake hands now, you two," Effie declares with a bright smile, and forcing a smile of her own onto her face, Katniss reaches out to shake Peeta Mellark's hand. He meets her gaze, his eyes starting to water, and stares at her like he's never seen her before. She gives him one long, hard, look, before she drops her eyes to the floor.

No matter how much she owes him, if she wants to survive, she has to kill him.

**007.**  
Her first visitor is Prim, without surprise. The moment the Peacekeeper opens the door to the room Prim flies in like she's got wings, and jumps into Katniss' arms without another word. Katniss rocks her sister, back and forth, back and forth.

"I don't want you to go," Prim confides tearfully. Katniss runs a hand through her younger sister's straggly blonde locks, and notices that the back of her white shirt is sticking out of her skirt. Her only response to this is, "tuck in your tail, little duck," and a gentle patting down of the cotton. Prim's eyes fill with fresh tears, and she clings to Katniss, but moments later the Peackeepers stomp into the room and they have to tear the twelve-year-old away.

Her second visitor is Maysilee Abernathy, who comes bearing a golden pin and a harried air. "I can't stay long," she whispers urgently, glancing furtively behind her as she speaks. "But I wanted you to have this." She presses something cold into Katniss' palm, and when Katniss uncurls her fingers she finds that it's a badge, a gold circle with a bird grafted onto it.

"It's a mockingjay," Maysilee says, gazing down at it. "Jabberjays were muttations genetically engineered by the Capitol to eavesdrop on rebel meetings and to record information, but that backfired on them when they started giving the birds false information." She smiles briefly down at the pin. "The jabberjays were then released into the wild, and were expected to die out, but they instead mated with mockingbirds. A mockingjay is the offspring of the two birds, something that the Capitol never intended for to exist."

Her eyes meet Katniss'. "It represents that even the Capitol loses sometimes."

Her final visitor is the baker, who appears looking somber and regretful. As he enters the room she stands, mostly from surprise, because she didn't expect _him_ to be on her list of visitors. He hovers in the doorway, slightly uncertain.

Just to break the silence, she blurts, "I'm sorry about your son."

In response he says, "I won't let her starve."

Their eyes meet and she understands what he means; she forces a tight smile and inclines her head stiffly. "Thank you." He nods back, leaving her wondering; _why on earth did he come to visit me_?

"You look like her," he says at last. Her brow crinkles.

"Who?"

"Your mother," he answers in the same breath, taking her aback and causing her to start. He dips his head once more. "Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen." Then he turns and shuffles out of the room, leaving Katniss speechless and stunned behind him.

**008.**  
"Is this some kind of joke?" Katniss demands, planting her hands on her hips. She doesn't care if she's being broadcast live, there _must_ be a mistake somewhere. "This," she gestures fiercely at the man in the doorway, "is our mentor?" Effie tries to speak, but Katniss cuts her off. "I mean, look at him! He's drunk!"

"Not _that_ drunk," slurs Haymitch Abernathy in objection, and stumbles into the train cabin. Katniss takes a step back from him. "Don't come near me, you filthy old man." Peeta remains seated in the corner of the cabin, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

"Look at her, she's got spunk!" Haymitch burbles, slinging a hand around Katniss' neck. She tries to take a step away from him and his scent of stale beer, but he only tightens his grip. "More than you!" he laughs in Effie's face, spraying her with spit. "More than _you_!" he shouts, pointing into the camera, before he releases Katniss and stumbles away, crashing into a wall before falling to the floor, out cold.

The cameraman barely manages to hide his smile, but there's nothing remotely funny about the situation to Katniss. She turns to face Effie. "You have _got _to be kidding me."

"Ah, well, your district seemed to, um, think that he would be a . . . _suitable_ mentor for the two of you," Effie says, pressing her hands together and staring down at the unconscious Haymitch.

"Can't you see, _none of them were taking it seriously_!" Katniss is on the verge of tearing out her hair in exasperation. "You can't expect him to mentor us — he won't be sober most of the time. You don't know him — he abuses his wife! I refuse to be coached by him." she turns staunchly on her heel to face Peeta. "What about you? Are you going to stand for this?"

Peeta seems at a loss for words. "I — um —"

"I've had enough of this," Katniss says, half-disbelieving. "This is all one big joke." She sinks into a chair next to Peeta's and rests her chin on her palm.

"And cut," says the cameraman with a smile. "That's it, Effie, thanks for your effort." _Effort? What effort? _Katniss longs to say, but she manages to hold her tongue and fight back her anger. The cameraman gathers up his equipment and leaves the room, heading down the hall.

"I can't stand all of this," Katniss says at long last. Effie is lost as to what to do, and simply dabs ineffectually at the air with one hand, "don't be late for dinner!" before she, too, makes her hasty exit. Then it's just Katniss, Peeta, and an inebriated Haymitch on the floor.

"We should wash him."

"Pardon?" Katniss' eyes flash up to Peeta's face, studying him. "What did you say?"

He looks away. "We should give him a bath. I mean, he's covered in vomit. Not a state I would like to wake up in."

Katniss has to prevent herself from curling her lower lip in disgust at Peeta's blatant attempt to curry favour with their . . . _mentor._ "Who cares? He deserves it," but Peeta has already started to hoist Haymitch to his feet and her will crumbles. "Oh, fine. Let me help you."

Somehow, they manage to drag Haymitch down the hallway and into the nearest bedroom. At the doorway, Peeta tells her to go run a bath, and confused as to why she was obeying him, Katniss obediently goes into the bathroom and starts running a warm bath. She contemplates making it icy cold just to spite Haymitch, but decides against it in the end before stepping out to help Peeta.

When they reach the edge of the bath tub, with one final heave, they shove Haymitch into the half-full tub, banging his head against the running metal faucet and dousing themselves from head to toe in water. Without a word Peeta reaches for two towels hanging on a nearby rack and hands one to Katniss. "Here you go," he says, and his fingers brush against hers.

She snatches her hand away in the blink of an eye, but regrets it a split-second later. "Thanks," she answers, turning away.

For a while they just watch as the water continues to fill the tub, and Haymitch remains very much unconscious. Only when the water has just risen above his head and Katniss reaches to switch off the tap does he come to, spluttering wildly, and slamming his forehead against the faucet once more.

"Where —" for a brief moment he's awake and confused, but in the next a snore escapes his lips, and he falls very much asleep. Katniss' eyes are wide and incredulous. "Did that —did that really _just happen_?"

Peeta manages a dry laugh. "Seems like it." Katniss feels a disbelieving smile spread across her face, and in the next minute she's laughing — all the nervous energy, anger, and terror bubbling up into a bout of uncontrollable laughter. Peeta joins in, and for a minute she feels carefree and burdenless — their laughter fades; so does her fantasy. After they quiet down, they spend a minute in sober silence.

"I'll take it from here," Peeta finally says, gesturing to the drunk and asleep Haymitch. "I mean, you don't want to be around when I undress him."

"You're right," Katniss says, and her voice is as cold and as hard as ever. "I don't." With that, she turns on her heel and strides from the room. _A kind Peeta Mellark is more dangerous to me than ever_, she thinks fiercely to herself. _I can't let my guard down._ And so she marches out of the bathroom with Peeta Mellark's eyes burning holes in her back.

**009.**  
"Good morning, sunshine," greets Haymitch sarcastically as she enters the dining cart the next day, the glass door sliding shut behind her. Her brow crinkles; _is he actually sober_? Peeta is seated opposite their mentor, cutting his pastry dutifully into tiny little squares. He doesn't turn around when he speaks. "Morning, Katniss."

"Morning," she answers, still vaguely surprised. Turning to Haymitch, she says, "are you sober or just faking it?"

"Then I would be the best actor on the planet, sweetheart," he scoffs, waving his knife in the air before he butters his scone. "No; unfortunately enough for me, I struck a deal with Mr. Brightside here — as long as I keep sober enough to help you all, you lot don't interfere with my drinking."

Warily, Katniss pulls a chair out next to Peeta and drops into it. "Okay . . . " she says doubtfully, lifts the napkin flower resting on her plate and shaking it out before dropping it onto her lap.

Haymitch takes a sip of the black coffee resting by his plate and makes a face. "What _is_ this stuff? Screw it, I'm getting a brandy." He pushes his chair back from the table, but within seconds Katniss is standing before him, hands on her hips.

"You are _not_ going back on your promise just like that."

He mocks her, saying, "Whoah, did I actually get a little fighter?" he tilts his head to one side, almost as if curious, observing her incredulously. "Because all you seemed like is a tough nut to crack, sweetheart."

She clenches her fists, but Haymitch only laughs and flings his coffee cup onto the floor, where it shatters and the coffee comes splashing out. Katniss has a protest on the tip of her tongue, but Haymitch just says sarcastically, "whoops," before summoning a Capitol attendant to clean it up.

Katniss reaches for her knife and slams it into the table just inches away from his fingers. Haymitch stares at it for a long time, before he finally looks up at her, and something in his eyes has changed. "Now," he says, something like wonder in his voice, "we start again."

* * *

**II.**

* * *

**001.**  
Gloss Lustre didn't think it any coincidence that he and his sister Cashmere were reaped for the very first annual Hunger Games.

In fact, they'd both _expected _it to happen. After all, their father _had_ been Bloom Lustre, famous traitor of the Capitol and the rebels' spy. He'd been transmitting information and secrets from the Capitol to the rebels for months before they finally caught him, and he was given a public execution. On the day of his hanging, his father had snuck a message to Gloss through his Avox, one that simply said; _fight._ And fight Gloss and Cashmere did, supporting the rebels in any way they could, determined to crush the Capitol and avenge their father.

So the moment Cashmere's name is plucked from the Reaping ball, Gloss braces himself for the name that will inevitably surface from the boys' Reaping ball.

"Gloss Lustre!"

**002.  
**Cato Juncos was a freedom fighter. He'd never believed in taking orders, and when District Thirteen declared war on the Capitol, he'd fought on their side, and taken many lives. Truth was, Cato wasn't fighting for freedom, or for the rebels.

He was fighting for blood.

When the Hunger Games roll around, they seemed like another way he'd get to witness more blood, take more lives. _Fame _and _fortune, _just by doing something that he wanted to do. So when the boy's name is called, and it isn't his, Cato Juncos raises his hand and says that he volunteers for the Hunger Games.

And that is how Cato Juncos became history's first ever Career tribute.

**003.**  
Tyler Syrcyt ruffles his son's hair and lovingly plants a kiss on his sandy brown scalp. "Whatever happens, Beetee," he says seriously, staring into his son's clear blue eyes, "promise me you won't give up."

The fifteen-year-old blinks at his father through his frameless glasses. "Of course, Father," he responds with equal solemnity.

Five minutes later, when Beetee Syrcyt's name is called by the woman onstage, Tyler closes his eyes and clenches his fists. Right now, he would have given anything not to be a previous weapons developer for the rebels.

_This is called retribution._

**004.**  
"Bet you can't catch me!"

"Bet I can!" Finnick Odair splashes into the water, chuckling, and seizes a shrieking Annie Cresta by the waist. She squeals with laughter and tries to get away, but his hold on her is too firm.

Finally she stops squirming and he squeezes her tightly for one second, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I feel safe," she murmurs, half-turning. "Because you're with me."

"Well, I _am _a previous general of the rebels," Finnick says with a smirk lilting his voice, which causes her to laugh out loud and swat at him. "I promise, I'll always protect you," he says softly, and presses a kiss to her cheek.

**005.  
**Forlen Thry is seventeen years old and a month when his name is pulled from the Reaping ball. _I should have seen it coming_, he thinks. He glances up at the sky as he takes slow steps towards the stage; it seems to be asking: _did you really think moving to District Five would get you away from your past_?

It's hard to forget that you lived in District Thirteen, he tells himself, and looks back up at the sky once more. _No,_ he answers honestly. _I didn't._

**006.**  
Tanner Farthing is finding it quite hard to stay still.

Anything from the Capitol, in his opinion, is bad news. The rebellion spearheaded by District Thirteen wiped out most of his family and friends, for they'd been quite high up in the ranks of the rebels' army. He'd escaped — narrowly, and purely by accident.

He's convinced that the Hunger Games are his punishment — his and the Districts', and the moment the words "Happy Hunger Games" leave the president's mouth, he knows he's right.

**007.**  
Johanna Mason doesn't want anything to do with District Thirteen. Her entire life is gone — blown away just like that with the detonation of a bomb in her home District. Now she's alone in the world, barely scraping by, and working herself to the bone. Sometimes she wonders if it'd be better if she were dead.

"_Johanna Mason_!"

She steps forward, just barely holding back her tears. Only when she's onstage does she let them flow, to show the world that she's not afraid to be seen as a weakling.

Because in all aspects, she deserves to feel like one.

**008.**  
_Great._ So this is who she's stuck with — the retarded eighteen-year-old that she's known since she was a kid, who, at this very moment, is trying to eat his sleeve. _How wonderful._

Their mentor is twenty-two year old Twill Woven, who's known for her intelligence and apparently thought to be the District's best shot at getting one of their two tributes home from the Games. Cecelia's heard of Twill but never actually spoken to her, and somehow she'd thought that the older woman would have been more . . . _imposing._

"Do you want to win?"

"Yes," says Cecelia immediately, and Twill gives her a slight nod. They both look to Woof, who has given up on his sleeve and is chewing on the linen napkin previously resting on the table. The scenery outside whizzes past as the train starts to pick up speed, headed for the Capitol.

"And are you willing to do anything to achieve that?"

Cecelia's eyes meet her mentor's, and her gaze is steely. "Yes."

**009.**  
Rynna Havesworth is pregnant when she's Reaped.

She's always known that the Capitol is cruel, but this —? This is too much. Her eyes flash down to the slight protrusion at her abdomen, and bites back her tears. The Capitol just couldn't lose for once, could they? They just _had_ to reap her because she'd been a rebel, and was _pregnant._

_This is their proof that no one can stand up to them,_ she thinks bitterly, and only then does she let the tears fall.

**010.**  
"_Jamine Reis_!"

A strange kind of silence descends on the square as the daughter of the president of the rebels steps forward, her expression stony and set. Not a single person so much as breathes as she walks stiffly to the edge of the stage and ascends the dais, ever-poised and graceful. Her eyes are determined as she stares into the camera lens which trains on her, trying to capture any trace of emotion.

For a second, she can feel her façade start to crack — just a little — but catches herself just in time, rearranging her features into an impassive mask. _Flight is essential, _she thinks. _I have to find a way to get out of this._

_But I can't let my fear show._

**010.**  
There are no words as the ex-District Thirteen citizen's name is called.

Yvette Stallon collapses in a dead faint.

**011.**  
_Four notes. Four notes got me here,_ Rue Frond thinks to herself as she stands tremulously before the crowd, trying not to fall over. _It's because I trained the birds. The jabberjays. They didn't like that,_ she guesses. Her eyes are strangely dry as her District mate, Thresh Satial, takes slow, lumbering steps onstage.

_I won't let them underestimate me._

**012.**  
"Tell me, Katniss Everdeen," says Cinna Pelhure as he circles her again, tapping a finger against his chin. She half-turns to look at him, raising her eyebrows expressively.

"Are you afraid of fire?"

* * *

**III.**

* * *

**001.**  
"That was positively amazing!" bursts out Effie as she struggles through the crowd over to them. Katniss and Peeta both groan in synchronization at the sound of her voice, before shooting a harried glance at each other and turning away. Katniss removes her flaming headgear, the flames on which are starting to die out.

"You both looked _gorgeous_!" Effie enthuses, giving them each a quick hug. "Where are Cinna and Portia? Oh, I _must_ congratulate them —" with that, she's on her way again, gone as quickly as she came.

Katniss sighs; the other tributes are starting to wriggle past them in the throng of people, heading for the lifts that will take them up to their quarters. She starts towards them, but Peeta's voice distracts her.

"You should wear flames more often."

"Pardon?" she whirls around, and he takes a small step back; instantly she feels guilty, she didn't mean to be _that_ harsh. "I said, you should wear flames more often." He clears his throat, evidently awkward. "They suit you." Katniss doesn't have the faintest of ideas as to how to react, so he scratches the back of his neck before going on. "By the way — thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky back there."

"I'm sure no one noticed," she replies, plastering a smile onto her face. _Two can play at that game, Peeta Mellark._ "It didn't show."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," he says in response, giving her a shy, sweet grin that makes her feel warm inside. _Don't_, she cautions herself. _Don't fall prey to his charms, no matter how likeable he is._ And with that, she stands on tiptoe and plants a kiss on his cheek.

**002.**  
"Don't give too much away," says Haymitch; he takes a swig from his bottle. "You'll want to keep all your special skills for the private session with the Gamemakers. Speaking of which, what are you intending on doing?"

"I can't do anything," Peeta says immediately, studying the tablecloth with great interest, "unless you could baking bread."

"Which I don't. Katniss, I know you're good with a knife —"

"She uses the bow and arrow, she's excellent with those." Peeta immediately says, she can't help but send a suspicious sideways glance at him. _What is he doing_? "You should see the squirrels she shoots — nails every one through the eye, you must have seen them. People used to fight over them in the Hob."

"Sorry, not really my crowd," says Haymitch with a yawn that sets Katniss' blood boiling.

"And Peeta, he's really good at lifting heavy stuff, I've seen him in the market, he can lift fifty-pound bags of flour —"

"And I'm _sure _the arena will be full of bags of flour I can chuck at people," Peeta shoots back; fro a second she's startled by the hostility in his tone, but quickly recovers, feeling her own anger bubble up in her.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat."

"Oh, I'll _definitely_ be able to wrestle people to death —"

"What _is_ your problem?" she's finally unable to take it and bursts out, glowering at him furiously. "What on _earth_ do you have against me?"

A tense silence descends upon the room, and Peeta is oddly quiet for about ten minutes. When he finally speaks, he doesn't look at either of them, and his voice is wrought with pain. "When my mother came to say goodbye . . . she said that District Twelve would maybe have a winner. And she said . . . '_she's _a survivor, that one.'"

No one speaks for a while, and Katniss feels a chill spread through her; suddenly she's back in the stocks, bruised and bloody and broken, as the heavens scream and rain pounds down on her. When she speaks her voice is thick and broken. "Only — only because someone helped me." As she speaks, she hears the click of the locks and the relief of the pressure as the metal bar is lifted off her, hands encircling her wrists and tugging her gently out of place.

She can see the shock in his eyes that she knows. "People will help you in the arena," he says quietly. "They'll be tripping over themselves to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she replies, her eyes on his.

"You have no idea," Peeta says, and as he speaks she feels goosebumps prickle on her arms. "The effect you can have." Then he's back to staring at the lacy tablecloth, silenced again. Haymitch's eyes dart from one of them to the other, and then he sighs.

"I'll be coaching you individually from now on," he says.

**003.**  
The next three days are spent in training — the two of them flit from station to station, picking up survival skills on the way. It turns out Peeta's good at camouflage — "I do the cakes," he admits in a slightly embarrassed voice, which she doesn't even acknowledge, just raises her eyebrows before continuing on her way. Katniss isn't allowed anywhere near the bow and arrows, but she spends most of her time glancing longingly at the shooting station, yearning to get her hands on them.

At mealtimes they eat alone — the rest of the tributes don't really make much of an impact on Katniss, apart from a tiny girl from Eleven that reminds her of Prim. The first time Katniss saw her, it was like someone had slapped her. That night she cried herself to sleep, worried sick about Prim, and how she was coping without her.

"Her name's Rue," Peeta says softly to her one day. Katniss turns around, embarrassed at having been caught staring at her, but Peeta's gaze is distant and slightly dazed. _Rue . . . it's a flower that grows in the Meadow._ Rue. Primrose. She closes her eyes and forces herself to calm down, before turning to face him. "I don't see how that's of any importance. Let's move on."

**004.**  
"Peeta Mellark," announces the Gamemaker in a bored tone before he turns swiftly on his heel and heads back into the gymnasium. Peeta glances at Katniss, but she determinedly avoids his gaze, so with that he starts towards the door.

"Remember what Haymitch said," her voice causes him to pause in the doorway. He doesn't look at her as he speaks. "Thanks. You . . . shoot straight." Somehow this leaves her feeling dissatisfied, but it's too late. The moment passes, and Peeta Mellark steps into the gymnasium; the doors shut behind him.

It seems like less than a minute has passed when they part once more, revealing the same Gamemaker, come to escort the last tribute for their private session. This time, he doesn't even bother saying her name, just jerks his chin at her and then at the doors before stalking away. She takes a deep breath to brace herself and smother her nerves, before standing up and entering the gym.

It's the same one that they've been training in for the past few days, so it's actually not that terrifying. Most of the Gamemakers are milling around on their podium, laughing and drinking and stuffing their faces with food, most definitely _not_ paying attention to her. Katniss tries her best not to let this affect her, but she's filled with an inexplicable rage that she can only describe as overwhelming. _Don't do anything stupid, Katniss,_ the more logical side of her brain chides. _Right. Calm down._

She strides over to the racks of bows and arrows, which she's been dying to have a go at for the past few days of training, which Haymitch _specifically _told her not to do. Oddly enough, she obeyed, because some part of her is actually under the delusion that Haymitch knows what he is doing. _Never mind that. I need to _focus.

Katniss notches the bow with strong, sure, fingers, and takes aim, the quivering tip pointed at one of the target boards propped up against the wall. After a split-second, she releases the arrow.

It thuds into the board, just slightly off the bullseye.

She flushes with embarrassment, she wanted it to be _perfect. _Now, the few Gamemakers that were paying attention previously have wandered off for more drinks and more food. There's only one that's still watching her intently, an unreadable expression on his face. _I have to try again. _Katniss plucks another arrow off the rack with nimble fingers and nocks it against the bowstring. _Come on._ Every ounce of her being is tingling; she lets the energy flow to her fingertips, and releases.

This time she nails it, but when she looks triumphantly to the Gamemaker's dais _none_ of them are even looking at her, their attention is unanimously diverted by the entrance of an enormous suckling pig, which is still steaming. _I can't believe it,_ she thinks, as numbness spreads through her. _I'm being bettered by a pig. A _dead_ pig._

Without another thought, she raises her bow again and shoots one more arrow — this time aimed at the apple in the pig's mouth; the arrow slices through the fleshy fruit and pins it to the wall behind. A shriek goes up from the table, and they all stare at her, shocked, startled, and maybe even frightened at her temper. "Thank you for your consideration," she says tightly, and slams the bow and arrow back onto the metal rack before exiting the gym swiftly.

Dread curls into a knot at the base of her stomach, and she knows that she has done something unforgivable.

**005.**  
When Cinna pins the golden pin to the front of her dress, Katniss is vaguely startled. "Oh! I'd almost forgotten that I had that." She thinks back to the train, but she has no recollection of having placed it anywhere after receiving it from Maysilee. "It's your district token, isn't it?" he asks, and receives a nod in return. "It's beautiful, anyway. A mockingjay, isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm," she says. "I like it. It actually has meaning." He pauses, in the act of brushing her elaborately styled hair over her shoulders. "And what's that?" Cinna asks, and his voice is serious. Katniss regards him, wondering if she should say it. She does, anyway.

"Because it represents the fact that the Capitol doesn't always win."

**006.**  
"You win, you go home, and surely she can't refuse you then?" Caesar Flickerman flashes his winning smile at Peeta, who pauses before shaking his head slowly.

"Winning . . . won't help in my case."

"And why ever not?" Caesar sounds mystified, as if winning the Hunger Games can help _everything_.

"Because . . . " Peeta flushes red, and gets out, "because she came here with me."

**007.**  
It's the first time Katniss has been up on the roof, and she's startled by how loud the wind is. Cinna recommended it as a good place to be alone, and heeding his advice she'd headed up here to ponder the possible fates that await her in the arena tomorrow.

She ambles straight towards the edge of the roof, whereby, peering over the balcony, she sees Capitolites dancing in the streets, accompanied by deafening, pulsing music, and flashing lights everywhere. The sight is quite painful to behold — _they're celebrating the fact that we're going to be sent to our deaths? —_ and after a while she has to look away.

It hadn't really dawned on her until now — the fact that they're most definitely going to die in the arena tomorrow. She rests her elbows against the metal railing; maybe she should just throw herself over the edge of the roof and die a less painful death. She can't quite grasp it — the fact that the arena is a death sentence, that they're going to have to _kill_ people, that they're going to have to survive in a world controlled by Gamemakers. There's going to be blood and pain and she's going to _die_ — and for some strange reason, she can't bring herself to accept that.

She's still staring at the railing, wondering if she should climb over, when a voice rings out from behind her, "there's a forcefield that throws you back onto the roof."

Katniss swivels around. "Pardon?" It's only Peeta, but somehow it still feels like an invasion of privacy, considering the spectacle he made of her earlier in the evening. He doesn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the dark blanket of stars as he strolls towards the edge of the roof.

"There's some kind of electric field," he says, and sticks his hand out into seemingly empty space. There's a sharp zap and he jerks his hand back in, shaking it to relieve it from the pain. "Don't worry, I thought about jumping off, too."

"Who's worried?"

He doesn't answer, just stares out at the city beneath them, the city and its flashing lights and its eccentric people. "I was thinking . . . about how to show them that they don't own me." Peeta's voice is hushed, almost as if afraid people would overhear, but she doesn't even see how that's possible considering the wind there.

"What do you mean?" her eyes scan his face. "Nobody owns you. You're you, aren't you?"

"Yes, but the Capitol — I just want to show them that even if I'm going to die, I want to still be me." When she still doesn't show any kind of understanding, he sighs. "Look at it this way. I just want to die on my own terms. I'll kill when it comes to it, I suppose, but I — I don't want to lose myself in there, whatever it may be." He turns to look at her. "So, what're you thinking about?"

"Who says I'm thinking?" she snaps back immediately. He shrugs. "I'd have thought you'd come up here to think."

"I'm thinking about how to win," Katniss says. "Simple as that."

At her words, Peeta looks at her incredulously. "You seriously think that's possible? Don't you see, Katniss? No one truly wins the Hunger Games. We're nothing more than just pawns in it. Pieces," he says, this time more forcefully, "in it." She has no idea how to respond, but his words strike home and sink in hard. "We're nothing more than just pieces in their Games," Peeta says, and he sounds tired.

"You're wrong," says Katniss, when she finally finds her voice, and with that she turns on her heel and heads back to the lift. _Let the Games begin, Peeta Mellark,_ she thinks to herself bitterly. _We'll see if you're still so cocky after that._

* * *

**A/N** — the first of two installments; this is going to be a two-shot (: thanks, everyone, for bearing with my long-windedness and the sloppiness of my writing and its overall suckiness, but I'd really appreciate it if you reviewed :3 please?

oh, and please do _not_ favourite or alert without reviewing. c:

lots of love, drew


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